


There's A Chapel In A Hospital...

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Blanket Permission, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Ok theyre really just dorks who realllyyyyy need to figure out their priorities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 17:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: A chapel in a hospital was for praying.You pray because you're heartbroken or because you don't want to be heartbroken.I love you because you're heartbreak.Or, Kobra Kid re-evaluates how his life is going to far, and how this dirty little secret he's kept for months isn't what it seems, not at all. Being pastel is a lot different to a cheap cop out...





	There's A Chapel In A Hospital...

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a thank you to Mars, for betareading and telling me that it was not, in fact, trash. IN THE WAKE OF RECENT EVENTS WITH MCR I NEEDED TO FINISH SOMETHING SO HAVE THIS!

Maybe the Kobra Kid should’ve learned, long before the Desert jaded him, that love never lasted.

He’d seen it in his heartbroken brother, in the quiet suffering of his pastel crew member, in the way his friends only saw love in empty whiskey glasses and batted lashes.

Maybe he should’ve, but he hadn’t, and that vice brought him to where he was now.

In crush, in pastel. Not in love, not technically, but close enough to it.

It was an accident. Honest-to-the-Witch, he never meant to wear his heart on his sleeve; he never meant to fall for hot whiskey eyes and black hair and a signature grin.

Mr. Sandman, the motorbaby in the one crew Party Poison hated - Mr. Sandman, the Youngblood with a thing for Kobra.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

Every single part of his mind told him he shouldn’t be doing this. Every single part of his heart told him he should be doing this.

Nevertheless, he didn’t move from where he was - leaned against the wall of The Crash Track’s betting stand, cigarette unlit between his fingers. 

The sound of New Americana’s radio station over a bike engine caught Kobra’s attention, but he didn’t look up. It would be the signature black-and-red motorbike of Mr. Sandman, with the killjoy himself grinning underneath a black helmet.

No turning back now.

“Hey, crash queen!” Mr. Sandman greeted, the sound of the engine becoming dull as he came to a stop. His breaks probably liked him about as much as the Trans Am’s breaks liked Party.

“Hey, Raven,” Kobra nodded back, flicking the cigarette between his fingers before sighing and putting it in his pocket. Sandman never did like it when he smoked.

There wasn’t much talk after that - like it was to be expected. Kobra picked up his own helmet, the iconic yellow GOOD LUCK helmet from off the sandy ground, shaking it out to put it on. They might as well be faceless killjoys, slinking off to dark corners rather than two of the Desert’s most-known killjoys with spotlights on them most of the time. 

Kobra slipped his hands around Sandman’s waist as he got on the back of the bike, sighing silently to himself. Another secret for him to keep, another memory that’ll be long gone with a few glasses of whiskey. 

Did he even want to remember?

The drive wasn’t too long, but his erratic heartbeat made it seem longer. Usually he loved this, but the words ‘secret, secret, secret’ were repeating and repeating as a mantra in his head.

It was too clear to him this was his dirty little secret. He’d lied when his brother asked where he’d been. He’d avoided any accusations of being with anyone, and he’d done it deliberately. This was his dirty little secret. 

Whatever. Dirty little secret, who cared? Party kept secrets from him all the time. Why was this so different?

Kobra tightened his grip on Sandman’s waist and came to a conclusion: because Party, at least, wanted to come home at the end of the day. And Kobra didn’t. That was what made it so different.

They were in Zone 6, had been in Zone 6, but now they were West of The Crash Track; the Youngblood’s base was somewhere around here, but Kobra knew he wasn’t going to have to explore too much.

At this point, he knew the way to Sandman’s bedroom by heart. Funny how that worked, huh?

He shook his head, shaking off the thoughts yet again, taking off his sunglasses just to rub his eyes.

Without a doubt, he didn’t look too good, bags under his eyes from his apparent lack of sleep, but he knew Sandman didn’t care too much about it. He would always look at Kobra with the same infatuated stare, the dark eyes.

Infatuation was always short-lived. It would die, eventually, but Kobra didn’t let that thought veer him too far from the present - instead, he just got lost. Again. 

This time, lost in Sandman, in a dark room with the door closed and Sandman’s hands on his hips and Kobra’s lips on his neck and a tangle of breathes. It was familiar, it was Sandman, and Kobra was okay with that. 

Dirty little secret or not, crew rivalry or not, Sandman was a damn good kisser and Kobra needed time away from his crew or even the races. He needed time for this, he supposed, pushed against a wall with no other places to be, no one to please and no responsibility. 

Nothing for him to regret. Besides this, of course, but he’d come to terms with that a long time ago, the first few times he’d made his way to this room. 

Regret wasn’t new to him. What was new to him, though, was Sandman pulling away from him, locking their gazes together even in the dark. Hot whiskey eyes. He’d gotten the comparison from some song on a CD he’d heard a long time ago, but it worked. It felt like Sandman.

“Are you sure you want to be doing this?” Sandman asked, barely a whisper, trailing his finger along the bottom of Kobra’s jacket, still flush against him. 

“You’ve never asked that before.” Kobra didn’t snap - but he was a bit confused, and a little surprised at that. Sandman was the type to hesitate until Kobra returned his affections, he didn’t ask out loud all too much. That question specifically. “Why are you asking that now?”

“I -” Sandman started, then cut himself off. With a sigh, he tredged over to turn the light on, not returning to Kobras side and instead sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Look me in the eye.”

“Why?” Kobra asked, but slowly sat next to him, obliging the odd request. He didn’t see any reason why Sandman would ask that, of all things, but then again, he was dim at times. Most of the time.

Sandman shook his head, giving a vague wave in Kobra’s direction. “You’re high again, aren’t you? We have to stop hanging out like this.”

“Since when have we ever just hung out?” Kobra all but snorted. He wasn’t quite laughing, but the idea was amusing to him. When had they ever really just...hung out? Was that something Kobra wanted?

And he wasn’t high, thank you very much, but that didn’t change anything, now did it? His eyes were just naturally dilated.

“Never,” said Sandman, frowning. “It’s drinks and racing and sex with you. And, quite frankly, I’m...tired of it. I’m tired of being your boy toy and I’m tired of dealing with you when you’re high.”

“I’m not high. And you were never my boytoy.” It was time for Kobra to frown - part of him understood where Sandman was coming from. Still. Sandman was Kobra’s dirty little secret, not his boytoy. And if he had it his way, he would keep it that way.

Not that it mattered all too much. It just went to show that Kobra would rather spend his night in bed with someone he never bothered to know rather than in the same building as his brother. That was why he felt guilty. He already knew that much. Why did Sandman have to bring this up?

“That’s all I am to you,” Sandman said, looking studiously at the cold concrete floor and messing with his thumbs. His nails were painted - huh. Nail polish code? A quick check confirmed yes. He would have to see that later. “A means to an end.”

“What end, exactly, do you think I’m using you for?” Kobra asked, lying back to stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling years ago. These ones still glowed, Kobra knew. The ones in Party’s room didn’t glow anymore. 

“You’re using me so you don’t have to go face the world,” Sandman wisely said. It was a shame Kobra wasn’t listening all too much, preferring to try to count the fake stars. Better to do that than watch this little safe haven of his crash down around him. Would that be so bad? Why did he hate the idea so much?

Kobra pointed out the largest star he could see. “You see that? That’s the North Star. Everyone loves the north star. That’s how you find your way home, y’know?”

“That’s not what we’re -”

Kobra cut him off. He pointed to a different star. “And that one, see. That smallest of the bunch, but closest to the North Star. Let’s call that one, hm...Let’s call it 27. I like that number. Well, everyone can see North. They love North. And North loves them. North did love 27, too, but no one ever saw 27 and North forgot about him. They used to be close. Now all they do is argue. Maybe 27 just lashes out to get North’s attention.”

Sandman was silent for a long, drawn out minute. Kobra didn’t look over once, nor did he feel inclined to. What did he care what Sandman thought? “...That was a really complicated way of saying you’re using me to get back at your brother.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“That is exactly what you said.”

Kobra sighed in frustration, rolling over onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow. His jaw and collarbone already showed the outcome of their make-out session. “Fine. I’ll say it this way - I don’t like being ignored. And you...you treat me like I’m everything, okay? I’m not using you to spite my brother.”

“Whatever your twisted logic is,” Sandman huffed, not exasperated but annoyed nonetheless. “I don’t really mean anything to you. And, look. I get it. I love attention too, but this is not the way to go about it.”

“Then how do you expect me to get attention, huh?” Kobra asked, squeezing his eyes shut. He came here to add on to his list of secrets, regrets, and guilts, and yet here he was, talking about how being an attention whore ran in the family. 

Sandman shrugged, uncomfortably. “I don’t know. But not like this. Maybe you should talk to Party.”

“The last time I talked to my brother,” Kobra made a disgusted face, his eyes still closed. “I left and I came here. Talking doesn’t...really work.”

“Either way. You still need to talk, whether you like the idea or not. You’re - no offense, dude - but you’re sort-of a wreck,” said Sandman hesitantly. Like he was weighing his options of what to tell Kobra or what to keep from him - but, hey, what did it really matter? All was fine, right now, and Kobra was okay with staring at the plastic stars when he reopened his eyes. He’d never really paid attention to what was actually in this room.

Maybe he should, he giggled to himself. It was a nice change from the mess and chaos of the Diner. Much more inviting, calming. Safe. “Yeah, but I’m your wreck.”

“Are you now?” Sandman asked, raising a brow. Kobra wasn’t particularly paying him much attention, but Sandman’s voice was soothing, too. It didn’t have the same harsh edge to it like Party’s did, didn’t have the same agitated rasp to it like Ghoul’s, didn’t have the caution laced in Jet’s. “I don’t recall that ever happening.”

“And I don’t even remember how we met,” Kobra hummed, glancing up to see Sandman’s small frown. It was true; he didn’t. He’d probably been drunk at the time, which would probably explain how their relationship had quickly became a P Ami sort-of deal. “So...Fair game?”

“Not fair game,” Sandman shook his head. Kobra was usually good at reading people, but it was only the people he was close with that he absolutely couldn’t understand - his crew, his brother, his...Whatever Sandman was. And he wasn’t a boytoy. “I - I, Destroya, Kobra, you really don’t see the issue with that, do you?”

“Why should I?”

Sandman threw his hands up in frustration - “Because - Because it’s not good for you! You’re supposed to remember meeting the guy you’ve fucking been sleeping with! What I feel doesn’t mean shit because you clearly don’t want anything more than a cheap way to get rid of your life for a few hours!”

Kobra was too taken aback for a second to answer. Hesitantly, he reached up to grab Sandman’s wrists, bringing his hands back into his lap. It was too intimate, but not in the way they were used to - it was intimate in a more emotional way, and Kobra wasn’t used to that, not from anyone and definitely not from the boy who had seen every part of him. 

And should probably hate him for it, honestly. Besides the obvious, Sandman had seen more of his breakdowns than Kobra would admit, and he’d seen him when he was deliriously happy and when he was drunk and, and more than he had a right to. 

Kobra only belatedly realized that he was zoning out, focusing his vision back in. “I - I - you’re not...You’re not a cheap cop-out, okay? But what else do you want me to do? Sit and talk, when have we ever done that and how am I supposed to initiate that?”

“By - I don’t know - talking? Just, just talking? We don’t have to...the other stuff, y’know. It just...That’s what always happens. It doesn’t have to,” Sandman explained, using his hands as he spoke like he usually did, but his slight gestures compared to his usual over exaggeration of his words reflected their hesitancy. 

He was nervous. So was Kobra. Neither were sure where this conversation was going, neither wanted it to venture to where they’d never see each other again.

“Then what should we talk about?” Kobra asked softly. He didn’t know. Sure, yeah, they had become fast friends and quicker lovers, but that was over intoxication and adrenaline in a dangerous mixture. What did they really know about each other? What kept them going back together?

Was the ignorance the alluring part?

Sandman let out a slow breathe, closing his eyes to think - Kobra noted the dark brown of his lashes, the olive skin where the sun burns hadn’t found yet, the...the tear rolling down his face. Was this where they parted ways? “I...I don’t know, Kobra. There’s...always gonna be somethin’ there that you’re hiding, I think. And you’re hiding behind a lot. This time it’s drugs ‘n alcohol ‘n racing, ‘n me. Can we start there?”

His voice was shaking, but in the way Kobra knew he didn’t want to any tears to be slipping out and he didn’t want his voice to do that. Some were more naturally inclined to cry than others; this time probably from frustration, of course. 

Kobra shook his head, fiddling with his thumbs so he didn’t have to look up, having snapped his gaze away once Sandman opened his eyes to look and wait for a response. “N - No. I don’t, I don’t think that’s a good conversation to have, today. Raincheck, maybe. Can we start with...What the Hell even are we?”

“I’d say a P Ami,” Sandman shrugged - and part of that stung Kobra, just a little bit - “But there’s something keepin’ me around you. So...I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you helpful?” Kobra frowned, but kept it joking. He needed to cut some of the tension in this room, between them, but he didn’t quite know how and he measured each of his breathes just to make sure that he wasn’t disrupting the air too much. Moving too much in general, minus his thumbs. “I don’t think you’re a cop out. I don’t think you’re my self-destruction and - and I sure as hell don’t think I’m your boytoy. I hate that word. We just, uh, don’t talk too much, I guess? I think...Ugh, thinking is hard. It’s stupid.”

Kobra punctuated his own sentence with a heavy sigh and rubbing his eyes, even to see static dance in his vision. Thinking was hard, he actively tried to avoid it. Now he had to because he was supposed to ‘get his life together’ and ‘work things out’. Well, sorry Sandman, he couldn’t even understand why this was a problem in the first place.

Maybe it was just a problem because he was trying to lie again. He knew exactly how he felt about Sandman and why he was so nervous and why he didn’t want this conversation to be their good-bye. Because he was pastel.

He was pastel, and he could only come to terms with this when he was alone, when there was no Sandman or Cherri or Jet or Ghoul or Party. No one to see the thoughts swirling around and around until he buried them again.

Being pastel was clearly not in Kobra’s style. He was used to fading sparks and short-lived crushes, and they must have a mutual infatuation for each other, or something, because this couldn’t last. 

Sandman waited patiently until Kobra picked his sentence back up, waiting. Kobra wished he would’ve let him get off the hook. “Let me put it this way - I have no clue what you are. But you’re not a boytoy but you’re not my boyfriend, either, so.”

“I’m just the guy you make-out with and lie about where you’re going with?”

“I -”

“You seriously think I wouldn’t know you’re keeping me a secret…? I mean, it’s all fine and dandy, we’ve got really different crews, but...that’s still some food for thought, I guess. I don’t keep you a secret.”

“I’m not,” Kobr started, frustratedly beginning to rake his hands through his hair, not making eye contact. He couldn’t. “I’m not keeping you a secret!”

“But aren’t you?” Sandman drawled, raising a brow. “I told you it’s fine, that’s not my choice, but...Why?”

Kobra wanted to scream, my brother, but that would be a lie. It was true; it would break Party’s heart and he’d be stand-offish with Kobra for a month at best, but it wasn’t just because of Party’s grudge against Benzedrine and all of Benzedrine’s associates. It was also that Kobra didn’t want this to be out in the open because that would make it real, that would make it something that wasn’t…

That wasn’t his escape. 

Dammit, Sandman was right. Dammit. Why did he have to be right? Why hadn’t Kobra realized it before?

“Because it’s - it’s -” He tried to force the words out. They were sticking in his throat. “Just because!”

Sandman gave him a sympathetic smile. Kobra wanted to smack it off his face. “You don’t have to tell me. We don’t have to talk about it, I guess. I, just, you’re not a cheap fuck for me either, okay? You’re...something. Don’t know what yet, but I’m trying to figure it out. You’re one very confusing motherfucker, you know that, right?”

Kobra laughed - maybe just to break what he thought was quickly turning into tension and silence he didn’t like. “I might be. I...I don’t wanna keep talkin’, but...I don’t really wanna go home.”

“Then we don’t have to talk. And you don’t have to go home. You can stay here until morning, if you want. Or longer. But you don’t have to go.”

Sandman was kinda rambling, but it was cute, if you asked Kobra. Then again, if you asked Kobra anything, Sandman was cute in general. Kobra himself sighed, tugging slightly on his blond hair. He needed a haircut. And a shower. And a completely different life situation, but he got himself into this mess.

“I’ll stay.”

Of course he said he would stay. Maybe his favorite part of their time together was the sleepy half-conversations and mumbling and the waking up pressed together but nothing needy, just comfortable, warm, wanting to stay there forever and happy that light was never going to filter through because the lack of windows. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing, neither of them needing anything, nothing. Content, together, content and okay.

Okay for once. What a weird concept. Kobra was okay with that, though, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. 

It was a comfortable silence, the tension in the air draining away with the knowledge that Kobra could stay, Kobra would stay. Tomorrow he could deal with going home and maybe coming clean to his brother, tomorrow he could maybe talk to Cherri about his own restrictions, tomorrow he could maybe force himself to work through everything he would prefer to ignore.

Tomorrow. But for now, he would throw on a pair of Sandman’s sweatpants (which, he had to say, were a lot easier to get comfortable in than sticky skinny jeans), wait for Sandman to throw the blankets away for them to lay under.

Kobra liked to cuddle, he wouldn’t deny that, but there was something different in being lazily nuzzled against Sandman. Something different, always something different. 

Something okay. Not his dirty little secret, not his escape, not something to make him guilty. Something to make him feel okay, for once in the rushed, dangerous life of a Killjoy. 

He fell asleep holding Sandman’s hand. More than okay.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY FINISHED AFTER TWO MONTHS. Congrats to me. Tell me what you think, spare a comment???


End file.
